Nightshade
by NekoPen
Summary: Nightshade: darkness, sorcery and truth. HPDM
1. Prologue: Still

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Nightshade

Still

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Universe in which he frolics. That's JKR's job.

~~~~~

Harry sat at the edge of the lake. He hugged his knees to himself and rested his head on the backs of his hands. The top of the lake glistened as if there were a thin film of gasoline coating it. He liked the dizzying lights, bouncing off the surface of the water; it was distracting. And of course he would never go into the lake. His body was foreign, it would shatter the precious vision of serenity. 

He liked this…this quiet. He liked it best when the moon shone directly over the lake, casting brilliant ribbons of gold his way. Perhaps it was enchanted… maybe the lake…or the moon. 

He had come out here in secret whenever he could find the time to get away from the confines of the castle. This was his place after the sun went down, or at least he had liked to think so.

There would always be students coming outside, looking, perhaps, for the same kind of solace that Harry sought. A month ago, he would greet them, speak with them and laugh when he wanted to, but he realized that they didn't come out here for _his _reasons. They crushed the reality of the lake. After they had begun to expect to see him here, to seek him out, he had gotten sick of it. 

He never came out here without his invisibility cloak now. For the most part, he was alone with his lake, alone with his thoughts and alone - just alone. Then there were the times that _they_ would come and make noise and disrupt the tranquility. At these times, he would bristle under the cloak. He would wish them away with the utmost loathing, and they would never stay for too long. Never, because they didn't understand the water and the forest and the grass. 

Tonight, though, nobody came. Tonight was perfect. The moon was glowing overhead, the water was shimmering in it's vibrant splendor, and Harry was falling asleep. 

He slept out here often, but never for too long, never after dawn. He would wake up with the early morning dew coating his invisibility cloak, with the moon only just about to set, and he would study the first rays of morning.

Someone didn't agree with Harry's intentions. Draco Malfoy walked toward Harry's invisible form at a slow, lingering pace. He was only half asleep when Draco had passed, causing just enough noise to pull him from the edge of consciousness.

Harry shook off his sleepiness and watched Draco in the moonlight. It was eerie the way it bounced off his hair, his skin, and made him glow. No, but Harry wouldn't expose himself. Not in this place, where the water was still placid and the trees would never stop shimmering. He watched Draco, studied his movements and behavior, as he had done with everybody else visiting the grounds at night. 

Often, Harry would observe him at mealtimes or during classes, with nothing so much as curiosity but with awareness. Draco had seemed so elegant, his movements precisely calculated, but he wasn't acting very much like himself at the moment. It would be difficult to recognize upon casual observation, but Harry was never the casual observer.

He was pacing, back and forth, looking for all the world as if he were about to implode upon himself. Harry examined this behavior with a detached amusement. There was something endearing about watching him panic and worry like they all did.

Draco picked up a smooth stone from the bank and stared at it for a long while. He looked out at the lake and seemed to be debating whether or not to skip the stone. He examined the water again, and Harry watched as the tranquility, seeping into the boy as if through his skin, engulfed Draco's body. 

He sat down, looking out onto the lake and perhaps realizing, as Harry had, that it was the epitome of beauty. Harry watched, interest piqued, as Draco bent his head down into his hands and cried. 

It wasn't audible, Harry couldn't hear a thing even if he'd been straining his ears. He only had the sight of him; what could make a Malfoy cry? 

Still, he didn't move, as the now resolute boy had got up from his spot next to Harry and the lake. He dusted himself off and stared yearningly into the water once more, before leaving the way he had come. 

Harry smiled despite himself, into the sleeve of his cloak. Sleep was overcoming him again and the preceding events had seemed so much a dream. 

~~~~

The owl had come at dinnertime. He hadn't opened the letter until he was alone in the dormitory. It was rare that he received letters from his father. Lucius Malfoy was, after all, hiding from the ministry. 

He shook from trepidation. What did his father have to say that was so important? 

He untied the lace that held it closed and gingerly opened the thick parchment. Several Nightshade flowers tumbled from the open parchment. Nightshade. Darkness, sorcery, and truth. 

Draco stared at the dark, purple flowers in his lap. So she was dead. She was dead and he would have to go to his father. There was no longer anything protecting him from Lucius or from Lord Voldemort, who he feared more than anything.

His mother was never affectionate or particularly kind, but she loved Draco. There was an oath, something of which Draco knew nothing about, taken between his parents. His mother fought for Draco's freedom from Voldemort, a freedom that neither she nor Lucius would ever be allowed. 

It was too late now. 

And that thought had sent him into a rage. Rage because he had no choice, he never had a choice, and rage because he was handing over his life to something that he didn't even know. 

His mother was _dead._

He fled the common room, where the Slytherins had sent up inquiring gestures. They would succumb to this, too, he thought morbidly. 

No, but he couldn't stay in the castle. The walls were slowly encasing him, they were suffocating him and he had to get out. His mind barely registered that it was past curfew. He ran through the corridors of the dungeons and didn't stop until he found himself right outside the front doors. The dark castle towered menacingly over him. 

A walk was good, a walk to anywhere but in that building. The cool night air immediately calmed him; he could breathe again. And he had left the flowers up there, on his bed; the Slytherins would see it and know. 

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily in and out until he felt his lightheadedness disappear. When he opened his eyes, he was at the lake. He ventured further, nearing the edge of the water. 

He saw curious little stones at a shallow spot in the water. He felt them, and they were smooth, cold and, he thought with a laugh, nothing like himself. 

But then he looked up and really saw the lake. It was breathtaking at night. There were little lights all around the surface, and they looked like echoes. 

__

Mine wont be like this he thought, feeling suddenly more miserable than ever before. He cried: for his mother, for himself and for whoever got in Voldemort's way. 

__

Pitiful, pitiful. Just defy him, can't you? Seek refuge in the castle, talk to Dumbledore. 

His mind nagged at him, constantly and relentlessly until he was so tired that he didn't even realize the walls were caving in on him. He was back in his room, back with the Nightshade, and to nightmares of his father. 

~~~~~~~~

Hey everybody. This one was giving me brain-ouchies so I had to put it on paper. Please leave a review (they keep me going) and constructive criticism is appreciated. This fic will be fairly long, possibly novel length, depending on 1) my patience and 2) some other things that I don't remember. 

Thanks very much!

Tara


	2. Chapter One: Blurred

Nightshade

Harry's back hurt. He'd been sitting in that one position for much too long. He took a scalding shower, attempting to soothe the sore muscles. Well, he wouldn't sleep like that again. 

He felt the gentle rhythm of the water on his back. It sprayed out in a soothing tempo, and Harry closed his eyes. He realized then that he loved simplicity. He had come to enjoy what he used to consider monotonous. 

He dried, smirked at the reflection of his hair, and went on with his morning business.

So it would be seven years at Hogwarts, and Harry had accepted the fact that he was the only one who could kill Voldemort and that Voldemort could be the only one to kill him. He attempted to enjoy every bit of life he could. It was funny though: nobody knew that but him. 

Ron and Hermione had thought he was growing depressed, what with his solitary walks and his obsession with watching people. His was a form of completely non-magical legilimens. He could read people by their body movements, facial expressions, pretty much anything. And it wasn't because he was gifted, as people assumed, but because he loved to watch people live their dull lives, something he would never again be able experience. 

But he wasn't depressed. He did think longingly of his parents sometimes, and he wished muggle television was available in Hogwarts, but he wasn't depressed. 

He didn't have the time for it, or the tolerance. He had to live something, not walk and talk and breathe, but _live._

It was as Harry folded up his invisibility cloak that he remembered the previous night's dream. Or it wasn't a dream at all. Draco Malfoy walked, didn't throw a skipping stone, and cried, with Harry sitting only three feet away. It would have made for a funny dream, but it wasn't, because it was all of it very real and Harry was watching someone from inside his invisibility cloak. 

He had witnessed some strange occurrences when people thought they were alone, but he had never seen Draco cry. It was the kind of thing that makes the world turn sideways for a few seconds. Everything's off balance for the shortest time, but then it all comes back and seems as if it should have been off balance the whole time. 

Harry wasn't spiteful anymore, not to Draco even. He contemplated it as more of a tradition now. Draco would insult him, Harry would retort, Draco would fire a hex, Harry would retort, and then for some reason, they would be forced to reconcile by Professor McGonagall. Harry didn't mind it so much; it was another one of the patterns he recognized as a part of his life.

But that's why, he thought, Draco's untimely episode proved to be something of a hindrance in Harry's pattern. It wasn't a part of what always _was. _This walking alone and crying business, Draco Malfoy seemed to have developed a soul. 

The situation was of no consequence to him. A year ago, Harry had decided that living in fear would not be living at all, that he would not fear but appreciate. And the loss of any of these things would not hurt him. It wouldn't, really; he didn't know it before, but he had always been alone in this fight. 

There was the fact that his back still hurt. He supposed he didn't much appreciate that. 

~~~~~~~

They had all seen it and they knew what he was. Draco pinned another carrot to his plate with a fork. They saw it, they would ask him about it, they would want to know why. So why? He had no answer. 

He tortured his carrot some more, before growing nauseous at the thought of ingesting it. He looked up at the faces all around the Slytherin table. Nobody had asked him a thing, except to pass the butter. Of course they couldn't have known what Nightshade meant. 

It meant that he was captured, trapped, obedient. It meant he had no mother, that he only had Lucius and Voldemort. 

He wondered if any of them were in his boat. It was an amusing thought, all of them thinking they were so alone, even when they might have been so close to somebody who understood. He looked at them again. But that one was evil, Draco knew it, and that one over there only wanted attention. 

Nobody knew about his father's promise. Nobody here knew what Nightshade was and nobody suspected anything about him. His thoughts kept turning back to how many Lord Voldemort would take.

It was unexpected, but he could no longer bear to be in their presence. Every time he looked up, he envisioned all of them wearing the dark mark. He was to wear it and become one of them. They might wear it and become one of him. 

He stood up and left.

He could hear the Slytherins asking where he was going, some only acknowledged his departure. He needed them once, when he hadn't realized what few years might make up his entire life. 

Draco noticed how easily his perspective had changed. He wasn't like this a week ago. He had a purpose then, a plan. Now he was left with this unmistakable void that he couldn't understand. He found himself unwilling to carry out whatever plans his father might devise, unwilling to serve the master that he had been born to appease. There was no feeling, just this mindless drifting and the occasional glance into society. 

He remembered leaving the great hall, but had not remembered venturing as far as the lake. He didn't even feel the light breeze running through his hair. 

He sat down on a small hill that overlooked the lake. He liked this place. It didn't cause him to think too much, and it didn't want to hurt him. He ran his hands over the short grass as he lied back and looked up at the dark sky. Waning moon, retreating stars. They all blurred in his vision until he saw nothing.

~~~~~

Harry saw him again as he made his way toward the lake. The situation was switched, he thought mildly, Draco had fallen asleep. It had only been two days since either of them had come out to the lake. He walked around the water and climbed the short hill that harbored someone sleeping at it's peak. He sat down next to the sleeping form and studied it, still safe from his invisibility cloak. Draco Malfoy was asleep, but still, he didn't look as vulnerable as when he was crying. 

He thought to himself, in two days, he had found out more about this boy than he had in seven years. But Harry never noticed how thin Draco was…perhaps it was the way he held himself. But now, Harry studied his prone, sleeping form on the grass. This was not Draco Malfoy. This was not anybody, just an unconscious body soaked in beauty and, for the moment, peace. 

Of course, the moment had to be blown to hell. Harry was quite surprised to see Severus Snape stalking out of the castle in their direction. He decided it was best that he wasn't caught sitting next to Draco by accidentally being sat on by a very menacing professor. So he quietly got up and sat back down a few feet away, underneath a small tree. This way, he was still in hearing range should they have a conversation in his presence. It wasn't that unusual, he supposed, for a Head of House to speak with his student. 

But no, Snape had only come out here and stared calmly at the sleeping boy. He had only spoken Draco's name in a whisper, but Draco was a light sleeper. He woke up quickly, responded quickly, left quickly. All of it seemed planned and carried out in a rush. Still, Harry went back to where Draco had slept, he went there and looked out at the lake, trying to see if this was a better view from where he usually sat. He laughed out loud when he got there, pointing out to himself that he had officially gone mad. 

This wasn't as good a view, anyway. 

~~~~~~~

You know what I love about writing? 'Cause I don't, and I'm seriously about ready to give up…I know that I love the freedom of creating, it's liberating…but I'm losing interest already! 

Luckily, I don't consider fanfic writing as the kind of writing that I'm getting sick of, thank God. I hate professors…most of them. Some of them nitpick, you see… they know they haven't done their job unless they're able to find some error, some horrible, blinding error. So then I've got to go correct it, but they're still not satisfied. That happened at 10:32, not 10:30! Red marks, red marks everywhere. Actually, okay, I've only had one like this. Oh, what am I doing? Sorry, it's three in the morning right now and I'm out of people to rant to. 

Hopefully, my readers wont nitpick like certain unnamed professors…thanks in advance, anyway. Unfortunately, my self esteem relies on the amount of reviews I get. I suppose it's the female version of a man judging himself by the size of his penis. Ah, good times, good times. 

-Tara 


	3. Chapter Two: Narcissa

Nightshade

~~~~~~~

"I know it's come, Draco, and I'm sorry." Severus offered what comfort he had to give. It wasn't much, but Draco was soothed to hear it. 

"My mother's dead." Of course she was, and of course Severus would know it. He had said it to once again force himself to face reality.

Severus knew Narcissa Malfoy when they were children. They attended Hogwarts together. She was taken by Voldemort as well, but not in the way that so many others had been taken. She was mentally butchered by a little-known spell cast by Voldemort. Only a few knew of it, of course, because she could so easily maintain the façade of sanity. Draco knew, and that's why Severus empathized so much with him. 

She told Severus once, in a letter she'd written while Lucius was asleep and unable to read her thoughts. But her thought process was flawed in so many ways. The last time he'd seen her, he didn't even recognize her.

She had tried to flee from Malfoy Manor at one point, but of course she was severely beaten for it. She was never again given the opportunity to make an attempt to flee. She was kept on a mental leash; Lucius could read her every thought at any time.

She would go about her business as a wife, mother and loyal servant to Voldemort and still try to think of things she was supposed to think about. When she strayed from her train of serene and pointless thoughts to scheme of ways to run away or kill herself, Lucius had made sure she regretted it to such great measures that she was at times unable to even recognize him afterwards, leaving her without fantasies of murdering him too.

She would sleep by Lucius' side, because he still claimed to love her. But when he slept, that was her only time of freedom. As little or as much freedom as she could even recognize, but it meant everything; she could think of anything she wanted. And she hoped he had nightmares, though he probably didn't. She envisioned killing him, and she planned and thought out every detail. It was exquisite.

Severus sighed and swept his hair back with one hand. They had shared a completely platonic relationship, but he had loved her. She had lived a terrible life but, at least, had died a relatively calm death. Poison was not such a horrible way to go, after all. 

And here was her son, waiting for him to say something. He owed her this much. 

"There's something I feel you must know, now, before you make any decisions." Severus motioned toward one of the chairs in his office and took his own at his desk. 

"Decisions?"

"I know what the flowers mean. It was Dobby, your old house-elf. It would seem he knows of their significance as well."

"Oh" Draco wasn't feeling particularly conversational. He didn't want to know where this was going, either.

"I gather from your display in the Great Hall that you are not content with the responsibilities that have been delivered to you."

Draco didn't respond. He didn't know what to say, really. He knew that Severus held a relatively high position in Voldemort's ranks. Why would he be saying these things to him?

Severus cleared his throat. "My seventh year attending Hogwarts, your father approached me with the offer to join Voldemort. By the time I left Hogwarts as a student, I was a full-fledged Death Eater, complete with Dark Mark and violated mind. Certain events had led me to the realization that Voldemort was not for unifying wizards but for breaking apart the very dynamics of the wizarding and muggle worlds," He paused, trying to word his past in such a way that it was not appalling or gory, "At which point I was approached by Albus Dumbledore with the opportunity to teach at Hogwarts and become…well, become a spy. I took this position and have been working for Headmaster Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix ever since." 

Severus realized that his was a very, very censored version of the real story, but he needn't have gone into every gruesome detail. What he said had still left a decently shocked expression on Draco's face. 

"Traitor?" It was the only word Draco could think of. _Traitor_

"Yes, well, it's very complicated. You know about the curse that was placed on your mother," He paused, looking for some sort of acknowledgement. Draco nodded. "That…that curse took away the last of whatever freedom she might have had, if it can be called that. It's Nightshade, Draco, but planted in the mind. Imperius in a potion, and so much worse. You must understand this. As long as you are in Lucius' care, he will keep you under it." 

Draco looked away from his professor. He stared at the dark, coarse ground. But it glistened and moved with a life of its own; it was molding itself into the shape of a woman. And his mother was rising out of it and saying something to him but he could not understand. And he blinked. 

Severus continued, taking note of Draco's reaction, "I have also been under Lucius' influence, and I will tell you now that I would have wished for death every day for the time that he controlled me. I would have wished it, but I was not allowed. I'm telling you this because you need to know how far your father is willing to go for your obedience. Now is your best opportunity to break free of him Draco, but in doing so, you will also betray Voldemort." 

Draco could only nod. He looked up at his professor, who stared evenly back at him. 

But now Severus had to make sure the information that he had disclosed would not be exposed to Draco's father. _Tricky_, he thought to himself. 

"We'll talk again on Friday. Come to the Potions classroom after dinner."

That was as much as a dismissal that he was going to get. Draco silently rose from his chair and left Snape's office, closing the door with a faint click.

People were always watching him when he walked the corridors. For some reason, they were compelled to stare at him as he passed; it was unnerving to no end. He must have been such a novelty, but it was the same reason he wasn't allowing himself to think about what had just passed. They couldn't see him worried or uncertain or _crying. _

He was panicking inside and it was nearly impossible for him to hide it. He felt as if his head would explode with the revelations of that night. He had to force himself not to think about it. No, can't think about it because they see the weakness. They can smell it.

It seemed ages later when he no longer felt eyes constantly boring into him. He was alone; he was sitting in the middle of his bed with the curtains pulled around it. 

Severus Snape was a double spy? Draco would be subjected to years of torture if he didn't act now. He'd seen his mother and he knew that he could never live like that. How she had done it was beyond him, but Draco had never expected to be at the receiving end of his father's psychosis. In the other hand, he didn't fancy being tortured by Voldemort either. 

And he still had Dumbledore. He had barely ever said anything to the headmaster, despising him for always meddling and thwarting evil plans of which he knew nothing. But now Draco could only believe that Dumbledore was his only hope. The headmaster had helped Professor Snape, after all.

Snape, of course, was a different story entirely. Draco realized that he now had the power to destroy the professor, the _traitor. _ But what would it do for him in the end? No, his father would still use that curse, and he would still end up like his mother. 

He looked at his surroundings and was slightly startled at finding himself in his bed. He didn't remember coming up here. But then the memory of all those eyes came back to him, the horribly curious eyes. He'd been sitting up there for longer than he realized. He could hear Crabbe's rumbling snores coming from the bed to his right. 

He wasn't sleepy in the least. He had taken an hour-long nap at the lake and felt completely awake. Draco decided to slip away from the sleeping Slytherins and go back out to the lake. He laughed at himself for growing so attached to that place, but at least he could breathe comfortably out there. 

When he got there, though, he wasn't expecting to see Harry Potter perched on the hill that Draco had, only hours before, been sleeping on. 

He settled for trying to kick him off the hill. Unfortunately, that wouldn't work either. Harry spotted him coming up the hill and actually had the audacity to smile. And that wasn't the least of it. He had gotten up from his spot at the peak of the hill and scooted over a little to the right, leaving enough room for Draco to sit next to him. 

Draco scoffed at this. This little boy with the features of a mouse was actually expecting him to sit next to him at the top of this stinking little shit of hill. To Draco's surprise, he cautiously approached Harry and sat down.

Harry was as chipper as ever, "What'd you and Snape talk about?"

But Draco tensed. "How did you…" He trailed off.

"Oh, I saw you leave," he said complacently; he pointed at the shimmering cloth that was bundled up next to him. 

"That's your cloak." Draco said rather dumbly, but figured it out on his own. "Oh."

"Anyway, you came out here before too." Harry forgot about his previous question, and brought up something else instead. "It's nice, isn't it? The view."

Draco was now feeling sufficiently uncomfortable. The prospect of being seen crying was not appealing, and he knew that Harry had been watching from inside that damned invisibility cloak. He gave a noncommittal mumble in response; really, he just didn't know what to say.

Harry sat with his legs crossed and leaned back on his hands with a very fitting moronic grin on his face. He was just sitting there looking out at the lake. 

"I never get sick of it. You'd think a stupid lake couldn't really hold someone's interest for that long, but I've just been sitting here trying to figure it out." Harry started swaying back and forth to some happy tune only he could hear. Draco rolled his eyes at the childish display.

"Why'd you take off the cloak, then?" He felt apprehensive about initiating conversation.

"Oh, well I figured you might come back after your talk with Snape." He answered, still swaying.

"You were waiting for me!" Draco asked hysterically, utterly confused.

But Harry laughed, emitting wisps of steam from his mouth from the cold night air. "Not really, I come out here for sleep."

Draco was starting to wonder, though, as to when this sudden placidity had emerged. It could have been that so many things had changed; they were both waiting for something to happen.

"Sleep." He said skeptically, "You come out here for sleep." 

"Aah, it's not that bad. You get used to it. But don't ever fall asleep while in the sitting position, it hurts like hell when you wake up." Harry winced, remembering the sharp pains in his spine. "Besides, you just slept here a couple of hours ago, you hypocrite. So what _were _you doing out here that last time?"

"Mind your own business, Potter." 

"Could there possibly be anything more humiliating than getting caught crying by _me? _What difference does it make?"

Draco glared at him; he really didn't have to tolerate this. "Yes, of course there is: getting caught talking to you by anybody _else_." 

He moved so quickly that Harry wasn't able to defend himself. Draco had shoved him over with his shoulder and grabbed the invisibility cloak while Harry was trying to stand up. And of course, by the time Harry had shook it off, Draco was nowhere to be seen. 

"Malfoy! I know you're here!" He shouted.

Draco snickered, "Don't yell, I'm not mentally impaired."

Harry whipped around and made a blind grab into the air. He didn't catch anything, but he waved his arms around maniacally in an attempt to snag the cloak from nowhere. Suddenly, something caught his foot and he fell on his face. Swearing profusely, he got back up listening for the source of the laughter.

"Really, Potter, this is too easy." The voice was moving, it was moving around Harry and try as he might, he couldn't catch Draco. "And you might look into some charms for this shitty cloak. It feels like I'm wearing a fucking bed sheet…and how long has it been since you've washed it?"

Harry made another blind grab in the air. 

"I don't think so." Draco smirked. 

"Fine." Harry turned around and pulled out the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Voila. Draco Malfoy was a few feet from where Harry stood. Well, that was good then. He folded up the map and placed it back in his pocket and pulled out his wand, aiming it directly at Draco. "Accio cloak" and it flew into Harry's waiting hands. He wrapped the cloak around himself and, having disappeared, turned to a very flustered looking Malfoy. His golden hair was pointing in every direction and he was still holding his breath. 

Draco heard laughter, somewhat further away indicating that Harry had moved further down the lake. 

Harry called out, "I'm going to sleep, don't try to steal my cloak." 

~~~~~~~

Hey everybody! I updated! Woohoo! I know this chapter is a little different from the other two (there's dialogue!) but there's good reason. 

I'll let you all know now that Snape is going to play a major role later in the story, and his curious relationships with Narcissa and Lucius will come into sharper focus. Though this is a Harry/Draco fic, I'd also like to focus on the situations surrounding them. Oh yeah, and don't complain about this chapter, please. I understand the campiness of the second half, but there are such things as repercussions. I should mention that I might edit this chapter later on, if I feel like it will interfere with any other part of the story. The two chapters I wrote before reflect the tone I generally want this fic to take, so we'll see what happens!

Thanks for reading and sticking with me, and send me some reviews! I'm wallowing with a very few right now, and it hurts my poor, fragile li'l soul to no end. So yeah, Review! 


	4. Chapter Three: Incognito

Nightshade

Hi everybody, sorry for the delay in updates, I've had some things going on. I have had a pretty unhappy past two weeks so forgive me if it leaks into my writing. Oh well, depression helps me write. Oh yeah, I watched Latter Days yesterday, which sort of inspired me to write this next chapter. Lol, yeah, it's a funny movie, and the guys are really really cute . oh yeah, it's about a gay couple, so if you're squicky don't watch it, and if you're squicky, I don't even know why you're reading my fic. Lol.

~~~~~~~

Harry considered himself in the bathroom mirror. It was more a focus on his scar, which had been aching as of late. It never changed in appearance, as far as Harry could tell, it was the same size, shape and color that it had always been, but when the pain hit him, the scar would turn into a pickaxe constantly trying to crack open his skull. He wished that he could just charm it away. When he had come to Hogwarts as a first year, the was the first spell he wanted to learn. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single spell in all of wizardry that could make *this* scar disappear. It was cursed, they said, by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and a curse from him would last forever.

There was something else too, besides the scar. His hair, he decided, his hair was worse than his scar. He knew people always commented on it, the messiness - oh he was just too unkempt. And his eyes, he mourned, they were the colour of death, of betrayal. It sickened him.

Harry slammed his fist into his reflection and watched as it shattered around him. He realized instantly that he had several shards of glass in his arm and sighed remorsefully. There really wasn't any way out of this one. 

After he had picked out the larger shards of glass, he put on his robes and left the bathroom. Seamus was already waiting outside to take a shower, but when he saw blood running down Harry's arm onto the stone floor, he exclaimed, "Jesus Harry, what happened?"

Harry stopped, looked contemplatively at his profusely bleeding arm and whispered, "Accident" before continuing on his way to the infirmary. He chided himself for giving into impulse again and ending up futilely getting hurt. 

Seamus still stared open mouthed at him, but Harry would have none of it. "I'm sorry, Seamus, but could you please clean up in the bathroom for me? This," he pointed at the injury with his good arm, "probably shouldn't wait."

Worriedly, Seamus nodded and brought out his wand from the folds of his graying cloak. Harry continued on his way, he was down the stairs from the boy's dormitory by now, and the Hospital Wing seemed infinitely further. There was nobody in the common room, as it was still very early. He left silently, hoping he wasn't dripping blood on the floor.

Harry was having trouble walking at this point, and his breathing was very shallow. He was so angry with himself for not being able to close his own wound with magic. 

Blood was still dripping on everything by the time he got down to the fifth floor, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to walk any longer. He sat down against a wall and lifted his injured arm onto his knee, so as to keep it slightly elevated at the least.

~~~~~~~

"Oh shit." Draco whispered under his breath. He had only come up to use the Prefects' Bath, but he found Harry motionless on the floor. Harry's face was death pale and Draco could smell the distinct coppery scent of blood. This wasn't good at all.

After several failed attempts at waking Harry, Draco pulled his wand out and cast Mobilicorpus. He didn't consider what would happen to him should he be seen by a student, this was a reaction to impending death. He couldn't just leave Harry. 

After a stressful five minutes of walking and making sure he didn't bump Harry into any walls, Draco finally arrived at the Hospital Wing. He levitated Harry in front of him and accidentally dropped him onto the nearest bed too roughly, as it jarred him awake. 

"Malfoy?" Harry squinted and reached around for his glasses.

"I didn't want to break them," And Draco returned the spectacles.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to place the glasses over his eyes, but the pain from his still-injured forced him to drop them on his lap. Draco didn't reply. He stared for a while at the ground and seemed to have made up his mind. With clenched teeth, he silently left the room.

Less than a minute later, he returned with a very angry looking nurse. She glared at Draco, who looked confused and slightly irritated, as if he had been insulted.

"Mr. Potter! What happened to your arm?" She commanded.

"My arm? Oh, it was just an accident." He replied vaguely. He really would rather not have said anything about it, especially in front of Draco, who was still standing beside the bed looking distinctly aggravated.

Pompfrey forced Harry to sit up and pulled Harry's robes off, annoyed as she realized he hadn't worn anything underneath. Draco's eyes widened and he immediately turned around, embarrassed. Harry had lost too much blood to understand their reactions, he hadn't even noticed. Madam Pompfrey quickly murmured some charms to stop the bleeding, but keep the wounds open so that the glass could be removed, and she brought Harry a bottle of something that smelled suspiciously like Skele-Grow. 

"Drink the entire bottle. It's to replenish your blood quickly." She turned to Draco, "Mr. Malfoy, how did this happen?"

"I don't know." He was still angry with her and with the situation, "I just found him lying there in front of the Prefects' Bath. Figured I'd have to bring him here." He said defensively.

"I'm still here, you know." Harry giggled up at them, burping as he did so.

Draco just stared at him perplexedly. Harry was sitting up in the bed, still half naked as the blanket was pooled around his lap. 

"Don't mind him, it's the potion. He'll be like that for a while. You don't know how he was injured?" Draco shook his head and Madam Pompfrey huffed, "You can go then."

Draco nodded and stared at Harry, who was comically waving goodbye with his good arm. 

"Mr. Potter, you have a dangerous amount of glass in you. Hold still!" Harry was still squirming around like a child, attempting to avoid the cold metal tweezers. 

Draco sighed, coming back into view. He had heard the struggle and figured that he should help. "Madam Pompfrey, why don't you just cast Petrificus Totalus?" He asked while pulling out his wand.  


"No, we can't do that. It'll tense up all of his muscles and it will be impossible to remove the glass that way. I don't want it to injure any more of his muscles, as many of them are already severed." She remarked, "I should have waited to give him the potion, he would've been easier to work with." 

Draco sighed again, loud enough so she could hear, and yelled, "STOP MOVING!"

Harry whimpered once and immediately started to cry. Draco almost broke out in laughter at the completely ridiculous display. Harry Fucking Potter was crying like a little girl, oh he wouldn't forget this any time soon. 

The crying at least made Harry stop squirming and Madam Pompfrey was able to pull out all of the glass. By the end of it, Harry was subdued and mostly back to his normal self. Normal, if one could call it that.

"Mr. Potter, this injury was no accident. I'm not here just to patch you up, and Mr. Malfoy might not find you next time. If I see this again, you're going straight to Professor Dumbledore." With that, she left their presence.

Harry tried to look guilty as Pompfrey went back into her office to sort out the paperwork, but when she was gone, he grinned ardently at Draco. "You, uh, brought me up here, huh?"

Draco was taken aback by the question. The answer was obvious, but he didn't like Harry's insinuation. Damn that potion for wearing off, at least if it had continued having its disastrous effect, he would have been able to leave quietly. 

"I was up there to use the Prefects' bath, but you were in the way. It was only a matter of moving you." He attempted a condescending glare. 

"Right, right." Harry looked down into his lap, "And you're sure it wasn't just an attempt to see me naked?"

"Fuck off, Potter." And Draco fled to the Prefects' Bath. 

~~~~~~~

Draco Malfoy, Harry thought, was just another distraction. He did realize a physical attraction but it didn't bother him. These things were all in passing. He was without choice; he was overwhelmed by an obligation to destroy everybody's greatest fear. There was no choice, but he could afford what luxuries his life had to offer until that point, until that day. He hated being unhappy, it only felt like wasted time. He might die when the time came, and he might live. Until then, these moments would have to do.   


He could not fear Voldemort, or even his own conceptions of himself. So his scar was pain, so his hair was an object of ridicule, so his eyes were death, what did it matter? There was no choice to it, just as there was no choice in defeating Voldemort. These moments would have to do.

~~~~~~~

Woo! Done with this chapter. I wanted to add in a funny drunken Harry scene waving maniacally and crying like a little girl and I'm just too happy that I got to put it in. I only hope it flows with the rest of the story. Anyway, I think every story needs a little comic relief here and there, or else it'd just be a stress ball depressing story that would make people want to go and kill themselves. Not suggesting anything, here x.x 

Alrighty, please leave a review because they keep me going and they make me feel…I dunno, like I've accomplished something. And it helps me correct a lot of stuff in my future writing. Seriously, subconsciously or not, I take this stuff to heart. I love it when people just…like, want me to post another one fast. It's like, yay! They can't wait to read it! Oh no, am I babbling? Alright, I'm done with that. Thanks for reading and hopefully reviewing!

-Tara


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